


death will arrive, dear warrior, to sweep you away

by tigriswolf



Series: Alternate Universe [190]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Big Brother Dean, Drunkenness, Gen, Horsemen, Pale Horses, Protective Dean Winchester, Resurrection, Sam's pretty sure he's dreaming, smartass horses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Dean was never rescued from or escaped Hell -- he was let out for bad behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	death will arrive, dear warrior, to sweep you away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theatervine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatervine/gifts).



> Title: death will arrive, dear warrior, to sweep you away  
> Fandom: “Supernatural”  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Beowulf.  
> Warnings: AU for season four  
> Pairings: none stated  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 2120  
> Point of view: third  
> Notes: written in 2009 for sadelyrate, on the occasion of her birthday. Thanks to dreamlittleyo for reading it over way back when.

_Dean on a pale horse_  
_And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. – Revelation, 6:8_

…

Dean had been gone for a full year when the masked man showed up outside Sam’s motel room. He wore all black; Sam’s first thought was Westley from _Princess Bride_.

A white horse stood behind the masked man, bareback with no bridle. He was tall, at least eighteen hands, and well-formed. He kept still, seemingly waiting for the rider to make a move.

Sam raised a brow. All the world was swimming around him, courtesy the beers he’d drunk for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he needed to go vomit, so he slammed the door—wincing at the noise—and headed for the bathroom. 

When he came out, ready to fall face-first into bed and wait to die or sleep or whichever came first, the masked man was waiting for him, sprawled out decadently over the bed.

“What the fuck?” he asked, wiping a hand across his face. When he looked back, the dude was still there. “Who the hell are you?”

The man slowly sat up, his eyes in shadow behind his mask. “You should choose rooms with better locks, Sammy,” he said.

Sam froze and his knees buckled. The man—Dean? No, it couldn’t be Dean, Dean was in Hell—was off the bed and across the room, catching Sam before he hit the floor.

No human could move that fast, even a lifelong hunter.

“I swear, leave you alone for a year and you just… give up. What the Hell?” DeanNotDeanDeanNotDean grumbled, slinging an arm around Sam’s back and steadying him on his feet. “Not cool, dude.”

“Dean?” Sam asked, blinking down at him. The black mask was fucking creepy, a piece of dark cloth covering his face. “Take it off.”

Dean-NotDean-Dean slowly reached up and peeled away the mask, and it was Dean. It was Dean like he’d never left, never been torn apart and buried and rotted. It was _Dean_ , and Sam wrapped around him, sobbing.

Dean just held him till he fell into an exhausted, drunken slumber.

.

Sam woke up in degrees; all his reflexes were shot, a year of booze and no sleep taking its toll. He rolled over, hand reaching out to check the bed, because he’d had the weirdest, most vivid dream ever: something about Dean coming back and Westley.

His hand hit a warm body and he jackknifed up, vomiting in the process.

“Oh, dude, _gross_ ,” Dean said. He patted Sam’s back. “Let it all out, Sammy.”

He gasped for air, staring up at Dean from beneath his bangs. Dean. Not dead. _Dean_.

“How…” He grabbed Dean’s arm, pulling him close, checking him over for wounds.

Dean laughed softly but kept still, and said, “Hey, lil’brother. What’ve you been up to?”

Finally, Sam’s hand paused at Dean’s face. He examined every freckle, turning Dean’s head to each side, at last settling on Dean’s eyes: just as hazel, just as bright. Like he’d never died. “I couldn’t get you out,” he said. “I tried every ritual, every demon, every spell. I even tried lock-picking the Devil’s Gate. But I couldn’t get you out.”

Dean nodded. “I know. They told me about every failed attempt, but it gave me hope that you tried.”

Sam let his hands fall. “How did you escape?” His mouth was dry, his stomach rumbling, and he needed to piss. But he wasn’t letting Dean out of his sight for a single millisecond.

Part of him was sure it had to be a dream.

“I didn’t,” Dean said softly, looking away. “They let me out for bad behavior.”

“What?” Sam reached over, lifting Dean’s hand out of his lap. He curled his fingers gently around Dean’s wrist, pressing his thumb to Dean’s pulse.

Outside, something screamed. Dean’s head flew up and he called softly, “Adramelech?” He cocked his head like he was listening to something. Sam just stared at him for a moment, waiting. Dean nodded and focused back on Sam. “Time to go, dude. Gotta get you somewhere safe.” He slipped out of Sam’s grip and off the bed. “Up, up, lil’brother,” he said, grabbing Sam’s wrist and pulling. 

Sam should have been able to resist moving, but Dean was a lot stronger than he remembered; in the space of a blink, he was standing, swaying like a sapling in a storm. Dean hurried around the room, tossing stuff into Sam’s duffels. 

Sam watched him for a few minutes before asking, “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t even look at him. “Getting you ready to go.” He tossed Sam one of his boots; Sam fumbled catching it. “Put your shoes on, Sam.”

Sam slumped down on the bed, trying to shove his foot into the boot, but his fingers didn’t want to work.

Sighing in disgust, Dean knelt in front of him, taking over the process. “First thing to do,” he muttered, “is get your drunkard ass all sobered up.” 

Sam just sat there complacently, very sure he was dreaming, and basked in having a big brother again.

.

The sun blinded him when Dean led him out of the hotel room. He blinked, cringing, and Dean swung the duffels onto the white horse’s back.

“I’ll meet you,” he said, turning to Sam. “Adramelech will take care of you.”

Sam just stood there. Dean raised a brow. “Get on the horse, Sam.”

Shaking his head, Sam crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere without you. Not a chance. Never again.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, an expression on his face that Sam recognized from his adolescence. “Sam,” he growled, opening his eyes to glare. “We don’t have time. Get on Adramelech or I will make you.”

The horse snorted. Dean hissed, “Not now, you nag.”

Sam didn’t move.

Dean said, “Last chance, Sammy.”

Sam still didn’t move; he couldn’t see when Dean did, but quicker than a blink, he was on the horse. 

Looking down, he swallowed hard; the ground was a long way away. Sam had never been crazy about horses. “Take him you-know-where,” Dean said to the horse. “And Adramelech? Take care of him.” 

The horse tossed its head. 

Dean patted Sam’s thigh and said softly, “I’ll meet you, Sammy. I just gotta take care of some business first.” 

“If you go away,” Sam said, “you’ll never come back.” 

When Dean smiled, it was the saddest thing Sam had ever seen. “I know the promise of a dead man doesn’t mean much,” he said, stepping back and slipping the mask on again, “but I’ll meet you. And I will always _always_ come for you, Sam. It just might take me awhile.” 

The horse rubbed its nose against Dean’s shoulder and then started running. Sam clutched at the horse’s neck, panicked, but though he bounced all over the saddle-less back, he didn’t fall off. 

Sam fell asleep on the back of that pale horse and woke up stretched out on grass in a circle of iron. 

_No one can get in_ , said a voice deeper than the depths of the ocean. Sam turned and saw the horse sitting the ground, legs folded. It looked regal, majestic. 

“What are you?” Sam asked. “What’s Dean?”

The deep voice chuckled. The horse’s mouth never moved. _I am the pale horse_ , it said. _And he is my rider_. 

Sam’s mind was almost dissolved by a year of alcohol and despair, but some things he remembered. “Oh, holy fuck,” he whispered, staring into the pale horse’s dark eyes.

 _Yes_ , the horse said. _Now, we wait for him to find us_.

Sam lay back down and looked up at the sky.

.

Sam thought a few days passed; he floated in a haze of half-formed dreams and memories. The horse got up a few times, trotted around, lipped at his hair. It didn’t speak again, though, and never left the circle.

When a sudden crack of thunder clapped, Sam lunged up and the horse bugled, rearing on its hind-legs, striking at the air. 

“Calm on down, there, boy,” Dean said from behind them. “It’s just me.”

The horse wheeled around and Sam turned so sharply he fell over. 

“Dude,” Dean chuckled, offering him a hand up. 

The horse neighed and Dean raised an eyebrow. “Mel,” he said, “’course I took care of it. You think I’d’ve come back here if I didn’t?”

Once Sam was steady on his feet, Dean backed up. “We’ll stay a few more days,” he told Sam. “Then we’ll head on. That okay, Sam?”

Sam just stared at him in silence. After a few moments, Dean turned to the horse and asked, “Adramelech, did you break Sammy?”

He didn’t hear what the horse said but Dean looked back at him and said, “Oh. Sammy…”

“Out for bad behavior?” Sam asked. “Fuck, Dean.”

Dean ducked his head, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Sammy,” he said again. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal?” Sam roared. “You’re fucking _Death_ , Dean! You’re Death on a Pale Horse from the fucking _Bible_.” 

Shrugging, Dean said, “Well, yeah.” His grin was forced. “I mean, what else’m I gonna be, Sammy? A fucking demon? No way.” 

Sam stared at him. Dean. Death on a Pale Horse. A year in Hell, but still mostly Dean. Death.

“What can I do, Sam?” Dean asked quietly. The horse sidled over and nudged his shoulder with its nose. Dean ran his hand along the horse’s face, eyes on Sam. “How can I make this better?”

He sounded so much like the brother Sam knew once, before college, before Jessica, before Dad and Azazel and Hell. He sounded like Dean, who had been the end-all and be-all of Sam’s universe. 

“You can’t,” Sam said. “Unless you can erase the past nine years and let me do my life over.” 

Dean smiled sadly at him, taking one hesitant step closer. The horse settled behind him, head over his shoulder. _He loves you_ , it said. _He’s meant to be in Hell, preparing the army. Instead he’s here, going against orders, to save you_. 

Sam closed his eyes, pulling in deep breath. “I’ve gotta be asleep,” he muttered. He raised his head to look at Dean. “This’s the weirdest dream I’ve had involving you—worse than the pineapple/grapefruit wedding. I wanna wake up now.” 

Dean came the rest of the way over, his hand warm on Sam’s skin. “You’re not asleep, dude,” he said. “I’m here for the rest of eternity, Sammy.” He lightly shook Sam’s head, cradling his face in those hands Sam remembered from every day of his childhood until he left Dean to become a man. “I’m here until everything ends.” He pulled Sam’s face down to look him right in the eyes. “I’m Death on a Pale Horse,” he said. “Which means it won’t end until I want it to.”

Sam brought his hands up to place on Dean’s. “When will that be?” he asked. 

Dean’s grin was hellfire mixed with pancake batter, and he answered, “Up to you, dude.” 

Adramelech lightly nudged his head. _We need to go_ , the pale horse reminded them. 

Sam dropped his hands; Dean backed up, tangling his fingers in the horse’s long mane. “Climb on up, Sammy,” he said. “’less you want me to put you on again.” 

Shuddering, Sam clutched the horse’s mane and tried to pull himself onto the broad, long back; he didn’t make it and nearly fell on his ass. Dean choked on his laughter when Sam turned to glare. 

The horse sighed. Dean nodded and said, “Sorry, Sammy.” 

Again, Sam didn’t see him move, but suddenly he was entirely too far off the ground on the back of a hellbeast that very well might hate him. He dug his fingers into the mane, holding on with all his strength. 

Dean laughed again. “Dude, Mel won’t let you fall.” 

He patted the horse’s shoulder before somehow swinging himself up behind Sam. “Let’s go, kiddo,” he said. “Got places to go, people to kill.” 

Adramelech tossed its head and Sam closed his eyes. Dean’s arms went around his middle and he murmured, “I got you, Sammy. Trust me. Everything will be fine.” 

And Sam felt like he was eight-years-old again, with Dean as everything. 

Dean spent a year in Hell, but he was out now; he’d become Death and he came back to Sam. He survived and he came back, and now he was with Sam forever. Death can’t die.

“I do trust you,” Sam said. 

He felt Dean’s breath against the back of his neck when Dean said, “Good.”


End file.
